


like a light out of our heart

by jaqhad (kyrilu)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Bloodline - Claudia Gray
Genre: Angst, F/M, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22284829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/jaqhad
Summary: Ransolm Casterfo has always hated snow.
Relationships: Ransolm Casterfo/Leia Organa
Comments: 9
Kudos: 8





	like a light out of our heart

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place sometime in between Resistance Reborn and the Allegiance comic. All I want is for these two to dramatically discuss politics while Ransolm wallows in guilt tbh.

He has always hated snow. It reminds him of the ash that rained in Riosa during the Empire’s occupation: smoking factory chimneys, burning skies, and choking air.

There had once been a time, his father said, when the skies were clear, the grasses were green, and the morrowbirds were singing every morning. There had once been a time when we were free.

On Arkanis, his first sight of snow when the season turned colder and the rain relented, Ransolm had refused to step outside. His foster brothers and sisters had ran to dance and play in it, while Ransolm watched through the transparisteel windows.

“It looks cold out there, doesn’t it. Reminds me of Hoth, a long time ago.” 

Ransolm turns around. Leia Organa -- it’s still startling to see her after all these years, after all this time remembering her, dreaming of her. She’s wearing dusty brown robes, her hair pulled back in the same Alderaanian fashion.

“Very cold,” Ransolm agrees. “The Tah’Nuhna are rather ingenious. To build all this, enduring ice storms throughout the years…” He gestures to the palace around them, the towers and spires of emerald volcanic glass. “How are negotiations going?”

She takes a seat beside him by the window. “Not very well, truthfully. They don’t mind providing us a place to stay in the meantime. But in the long term, they wish to stay neutral, like during the last war.” Leia pauses, puts her hand on his shoulder. “Are you settling in alright?”

Ransolm nods. They had recently left the temporary safehouse the Collective had provided the slowly growing Resistance. Many of the former prisoners from Corellia had opted to spend time healing and recuperating, courtesy of medical treatment funded by Nifera Shu… but Ransolm didn’t want to stay.

So, now, he is here in Tah’Nuhna with Leia and her Resistance, watching snow fall from the sky. 

“Sometimes this doesn’t feel real,” he says. “Sometimes I think I’m still in my cell and I’ve gone mad.”

“Your mind’s too strong for that, Ransolm,” Leia says, gently. “I’m glad you chose to come with us. Rose says that you’ve been working hard. Studying data reports from Threepio’s operatives…”

“It’s only reading, for now,” Ransolm says. “I merely wish to -- catch up.” 

The galaxy hasn’t stopped changing, after all, even as Ransolm’s life and career was put to a halt behind bars. He reads about the First Order, the Empire’s would-be successors, the true force behind the Amaxines that he and Leia had once been chasing, long ago. He reads about the secession of his Centrist colleagues, the New Republic’s continued inability to take action in the face of shadow conflicts and conspiracies, the destruction of Hosnian Prime, the occupation of worlds--

Leaders and activists killed or imprisoned. Children stolen or orphaned. Planets stripped and skies burning. And a man in a mask, imperious, supreme.

“It’s strange,” Ransolm murmurs. “There would have been a time where I likely would have welcomed this First Order. A new regime’s chance to do better.”

Leia shakes her head. “You wouldn’t have. Even back then, you knew better.” 

“Perhaps I did,” Ransolm says. “But I ruined everything, Leia, you can’t deny that. I was never a good senator, never a good man.” He looks down at his hands, scarred and calloused from forced labor. “I had a choice. I made the wrong one. I was presented with a world where you led as First Senator, stopping this war before it began -- and I discarded it. I threw it away, because I was blinded by my hatred.”

There are thousands dead. Millions.

“Don’t put this all on your shoulders,” Leia says, quietly. “Don’t dwell on the what-ifs. It’s something that I still have to keep in mind myself, Ransolm, because don’t think for a second it doesn’t keep me up at night, too. I’ve made my share of mistakes and lost good people under my command -- all these rebels, these kids, look up to me.” 

“And,” she continues, “after all this time, Ransolm, you still think of this in Centrist terms of us needing a strong galactic leader to make things right? I’m far from a perfect peacemaker and unifier. I didn’t address the rot at the center of the New Republic, even though I was there since the very beginning.

“We need to create a peace that lasts, a peace that will outlive chancellors, military officers, politicians, and yes, even princesses.” 

He watches her, hears the strength and fervor in her voice. She really hasn’t changed, Ransolm thinks. She hasn’t changed at all.

“A movement,” Ransolm says. “You want to create a movement.” 

It will be hard. He knows that the Resistance is lacking resources and personnel; they are hurting, on the run, fleeing from planet to planet and taking any help they can get. 

Then Ransolm realizes: _I’ve seen it._

Even as he looks outside, past the snow, he sees Leia’s people. Commander Dameron and Finn are racing hoversleds of supplies across the ice to load onto the ships. The girl who’s constantly by Leia’s side -- Rey -- is laughing at them, while staring at the falling snow with a sort of wonder that Ransolm could never feel at her age.

He knows that inside the palace, where he’d passed by the intricate Tah’Nuhna library, Rose Tico and Suralinda Javos are arguing about the Resistance’s public relations and recuitment plans… and in the other rooms and across the galaxy, there are pilots, fighters, strategists, dreamers, keeping the spark of the Resistance burning.

Leia follows Ransolm’s gaze to the window, and says, “They give me so much _hope_ ,” and Ransolm smiles, his hand shifting to tangle in hers. He waits for her to gently shake him off, but she doesn’t, she doesn't; she squeezes his scarred hand tight, and for the first time, Ransolm thinks that the snow doesn’t look like ash at all.


End file.
